Moving On or Developing Virginia
by Rafaela
Summary: I am tired of Ginny being a shallow tag-along. So I've given her a personality. Angst is a little harsh, but this is a little sad of a fic, also uplifting, too. Ginny's thoughts on herself and Harry...


Moving On

[or Developing Virginia}

Ginny sighed. She had to sigh. There was absolutely nothing else she could do at that moment which seemed more utterly appropriate. It was deep, wrenching sigh, that left her breathless and a little dizzy. She sat on her bed dejectedly, rubbing her forehead wearily.

Her mind was still a little numb, and her eyes felt heavy. Ron's party had lasted so late, it was now three o-clock in the morning, and she was the only one in her dormitory despite the late hour. The whole house was still celebrating Ron's birthday- extra special because no one had thought he'd reach it this year.

Except Harry. And Hermione. And they'd proved themselves right and victorious- again. _Harry_… Ginny lay down on her bed, staring furtively at the canopy above her, as though it held all the answers to the world.

She had tried to think of Harry less and less at the beginning of the school year. She struggled to push his name out of her head just now- a problem she hadn't had in a long, long time.

_Harry, Harry, Harry. _Her mind chimed_ Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and Loved- _not her. She winced with, was it disgust? As the memories of the past came sprinting, galloping, tripping, uninvited back into her mind.

Ginny had had idolized Harry, from the beginning at age four, when Bill sat her on his knee and explained why their mother was running around, telling everyone to be quiet while she listened to her very important and very interesting 'Harry Potter Radio Special.' Ginny was enchanted by the idea that such a little child, much like herself, was able to save the world, or something like that.

So she'd grown to idolize this boy, who seemed to pave the way, in her eyes, towards an achievable goal, that she held warmly in her heart. She wanted to save people, and she could, she was sure. After all, this little boy had. So could this little girl.

Eventually, though, as time wore away the ambition, unawares to herself, and _certainly_ to him, Harry Potter drifted into a far corner of Ginny's mind. Sure that little boy had proved a godlike ideal in her mind in the beginning, but now his presence became tenuous and unrealistic.

Until she'd met him. Quiet and shy, politely he appeared in front of her, and likewise, he disappeared again, through a wall, and onto a train. A train that pulled away from her and pulled to a castle filled with magic and amazements.

Ginny's motives were renewed after the meeting with her idol. She went about the house, saving shivering mice from the family's owls, informing her father of the need to renew the stability charms on the foundation, rescuing worms from rain-puddles, mending broken birds, and fighting off gnomes with an iron fist and a baseballs player's pitch.

The little queen of the Burrow presided over subjects, until she too went to Hogwarts. In that castle, with many Harry Potter sightings, she stayed busy. There were plenty of mice and owls to be cared for here, a fellow first year to comfort, a person in need of homework assistance. But the little queen had lost her faithful subjects at home. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, had befriended her brother, to her delight, and another girl from Gryffindor. To everybody's surprise, except for theirs, they saved the day. From what, no one was really sure, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, perhaps? Some other monster? 

And then the summer visits, which sent Ginny into a frenzied panic every time. _Harry Potter_, in her house! But all those things that she could hid in her dormitory at school that might prove embarrassing, were only all-too-evident at home. Ginny remembered sadly her embarrassed attitude towards her pink bath-robe, and her bunny slippers. These were not very brave and courageous things for a hero-wanna-be to wear.

So she had hidden in her room often during Harry's visits, and never had a chance to prove her gnome-pitching skills, or save her small world, not to mention mice. And so she'd lost her queen-ship.

Ginny buried her head in her pillow as the less pleasant memories of her first year came, like light through a window. Disheartened by her small impact on the school, her new home, Ginny had taken to writing her woes down on paper, she needed a way to get things off her mind. And what was better then a diary- that wrote back?

But the sleepiness, the blood under her fingernails, the feathers, the forgetfulness- Ginny's head whirled as once again the picture of Harry, standing over he like a saint, danced in front of her eyes.

Harry Potter had saved her life. _Harry Potter_ had saved her life. Harry Potter had saved _her_ life.

She should have been elated, the objects of her affections- for that's what they were, she'd been told by her friends- had saved her life. Knight in armor saves Swooning Damsel from Evil Dragon. Orphan Boy saves Comatose Manipulated Child from Over-grown Snake and Back-talking Diary Projections.

Ginny just felt sad, though. Even now she wished she'd put up a fight, realized the diary for what it was, anything, but to have been the damsel in distress. She hated being pitied, ignored, or worse, coddled. She wanted to be the one who slew the dragon, the one who flew to meet un-measurable danger.

Now Ginny rose and took the water pitcher from its stand by the window and wet a cloth, wiping her face tiredly. She stared into the night, not that she could see much in the dark, save the lake and the great field, and then mountains in the distance. The crisp April breeze rattled the new green leaves of the tall oak tree near the window, and a torrent of orange and red flew by her window, as the wind grew, dislodge from the gutters.

The buds on the trees were near bursting with life at the expectancy of summer sun… Ginny tossed her washcloth angrily at the window as she frowned in displeasure at those memories. But that puzzled her. She covered her eyes wearily and sat back down on her bed. She couldn't understand herself- surly no other girl her age would have reacted that way towards such pleasant memories… But all they did was bring a feeling of animosity and sickness to Ginny's stomach. The feeling, oddly did not touch her heart.

That summer, when she had turned fourteen, Harry had arrived unexpectedly, weary and in need of sleep and care at two in the morning. Ginny, the only one who had heard the thump of someone's arrival through the chimney late one night, had crept downstairs with George's old Beater Bat in one hand, wand in the other.

"Stupifly!" she had hissed, missing the dark shape in her living room.

"Ginny?" whispered a slightly familiar voice.

"Who's there?" She demanded, more excited than scared at the invasion of her home.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling and a bump. 

"Hold still!" she exclaimed "Don't you dare move!" she let years of familiarity lead her fingers to the lamp switch.

"Harry?" she said dumbfoundedly.

The boy, whose height was several inches higher than usual, and whose voice was several octaves lower, laughed. "Ginny! It's nice to see you too!"

"What on earth are you doing here at two in the morning!" she exclaimed, lowering her wand and smiling. She couldn't help notice that Harry was surprised at her appearance too. She was wearing blue-and-white checkered pajamas shorts, and a tank top, both bordering on the 'small' size as the summer heat began to effect the temperature in her stuffy room.

And so a summer of attraction started. Drawn by Harry's unexpected attention, Ginny had responded to his rather clumsy offers of that something-more-than-friendship. She was rather entranced by his selflessness, and his quiet ways. She was amazed that this martyr was simply a boy of usual mindfulness and passions. His silent reassurance brought out the boldness in Ginny she didn't know she had. Many people commented on the change in her when she came back to school. Outgoing, exciting, funny, exuberant, these words had never been used to describe Ginny before.

Ginny owed Harry so much, he had brought out the best in her.

And she hated that.

Uncanny resemblance in personalities, and unmatched feelings couldn't, and didn't lead to a healthy relationship. Ginny was pretty sure she knew from the first time he'd kissed her, that something was terribly wrong.

The first thought that had popped into her head, when his lips had touched hers, was: _This isn't right!_ She'd been listening to Ruth, Lavender, Parvati and Miranda too long. They'd persuaded her to think that her immense respect and amazement towards Harry was not just that- but feelings of love. Just a little crush.

So that's what she'd past it off as, and everybody else, too.

And with her new-found hidden stores of confidence, she'd finally been able to tell Harry no, please stop, this isn't right. But it had come too late in the summer to save hurt feelings. Things had progressed so far, because Ginny had become a good actress out of need. Something she wasn't proud of.

And now, back and Hogwarts, Harry wouldn't meet her eye. Ron was aloof, blaming Ginny for Harry's melancholy. And Hermione, with her calculating eyes, just looked sad.

Ginny had learned to handle these new developments, she had to. She'd made new friends, ignoring the gossip and rumors that flew. Ginny dumped Harry. _They were dating? No way! I thought she was obsessed with him!_

Ron's party, still going on outside was as loud a ever, barley suffering from its moment lull. Only minutes ago…If only Fred had simply tossed that stupid Butterbeer Bottle in the trash. If only he hadn't sat down on the floor in front of the fire and called "Oi! Lets play spin the bottle!" If only Ginny, delirious from sugar and Ron's grin at her present, hadn't joined in.

Spin bottle, spin!

Whose kiss will Freddie win? 

they chanted giddily. It landed on Parvati. 

Spin bottle, spin!

Whose kiss will Parvati win?

Seamus.

Hermione.

Ron (she rigged it, as her boyfriend was looking a little put out at Seamus and hers lip lock)

Ruth

Dean

Alicia

Harry

Spin bottle, spin!

Whose kiss will Harry win?

And slowly, the bottle lip edged past Colin's knee, and halted, pointing at Ginny.

The circle of friends was suddenly quiet. Ginny felt her heart sink down through her stomach, and down into the Slytherin dungeons. She looked up at Harry, who looked shocked and, repulsed? She felt the stares of her fellow Gryffindors, as they all held there breath. What would happen? 

Ginny had leaned forward, when it was evident Harry would not, could not. If only to keep the rest from gossiping later. Anything but that.

"Sorry." she had whispered so softly, she wasn't even sure Harry had heard her, before she had kissed him. His lips were pressed tightly together, unmoving and stiff. it was rather like kissing a statue. The brief second that passed seemed like eternity.

"I don't need you pity, Ginny." he said icily, as she pulled back. She had gasped with surprise. The rest of the group also looked surprised a wary.

"Harry," she'd said for loss of anything else. She looked at him sadly. His eyes bored into hers. so she'd looked down. Every fiber of her being wanted to stare right back at him, eye for eye. But she had to let him win this one. He already lost so much.

"Get a new game, Fred." Ginny had finally said, when the silence pressing her, became too unbearable.

She'd retreated to her dormitory then, so as not to put a damper on the party.

Harry's eyes had looked so sad. Ginny knew it was foolish to think that she'd caused his agony, or at least all of it. She'd heard Hermione talking to Ron about his nightmares, his estrangement from his usual favorite activities. Apparently the night, nearly a year ago now, when Cedric had died, still haunted him immeasurably. That was part of the reason Ginny broke up with him, she was like his rock. He'd assumed by her never-faltering devotion and adoration in the past, that perhaps she would be the one thing that would not change in his unsteady life.

He hadn't told her this, he didn't need to. Ginny could tell by the way he watched her walk from a room, even now. The way he had held her tightly whenever he could, afraid where she might go, that she might leave if he let go.

It's one thing to help a person, she reasoned to her pillow, and it's another to give up your life, your happiness and your opportunities to comfort a scared adolescent. Her silent words rang sharp and cruel even in her own ears. But she was sure it was right. She had her life, and he had his. Hermione and Ron, they helped him, but they didn't give up their lives and passions (seemingly each other) to aid him in every step he took.

When she first broken it off with Harry, Ron had yelled at her with no abandon. 

"How could you do that, Gin! Just toss him off, like a sock with a hole! He needs you, Ginny!"

"_I_ need me, Ron! I can't even think about myself anymore. Every moment I worry, 'Is Harry alright?' 'Is he feeling better?' 'Are his nightmares gone?' Ron, _I_ get nightmares from t_hinking_ about his problems! I wake up, and I'm afraid for myself! I don't want to be his bloody baby-sitter!"

"I can't believe you, Ginny. I thought you loved him!" Ron had yelled back, towering above her.

"I don't care what you thought, Ron! I don't now and that's what is important. He's my friend, I hope. But I don't, I-I don't love him." _I just want to be him_… a voice inside had added.

Eye's wet, Ginny turned on her side, wiping tears from her eyes. Tears for Harry, certainly, but also for her. How she'd been lost within his problems, not able to even see herself for him. They were to lost kids just, looking for an mooring. Like to boats without an anchor, passing in the night. One can not be the other's mooring, the are destined, not for each other, but to drift on, in and out of the night. To find that safe shore, somewhere.

Ginny struggled to sit up, wiping what she promised herself where her last tears for Harry Potter, out off her eyes. But even as she stood up and checked for the tell-tale redness in her eyes, she realized that that could never be true. She and Harry- were too much alike to be indifferent to each other. He, the unwilling hero, she, the unwilling damsel. Ginny knew of his private dreams for a normal life. And he knew of hers, to make a difference in the world, to save, something, somebody. Him?

_Poor Ginny,_ voices downstairs were probably saying. _She's been obsessed with Harry for so long, its so sad it didn't work out. What will she do now? I can't remember a time when she wasn't following him around, or at least watching him from afar._

"I will live, Ginny told herself and the doubtful voices firmly. _It doesn't matter what everybody thinks. I will go out, and I will conquer._

"Harry Potter," she whispered to the silence "Watch out, because somebody's after your job."

It was then she screwed up her courage and walked back down into the party, feeling her spirits rise immediately as her friends and family surrounded her, entertained her, and she them on this happy occasion. Happy not only for Ron, who was living to see sixteen, but also for Ginny, the other less-thought-of Weasley. She'd finally made up her mind about life. She would talk to Harry tomorrow. Everything would be better. It had to be. Maybe she'd get him to talk about that night. Maybe not. But Ginny would be damned before her friend, her vision, and her first love went without a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold in during these dark, hopeless times.

__

This story's not the past,

with nothing left to recall.

I've got my life to live, 

But I'll catch you if you fall. 

The roller coaster ride we took,

is not nearly at an end,

We bought our ticket with our tears, 

and that's not all we're gonna spend.

-Cyrkles, adapted.


End file.
